


Behind Honey-Golden Eyes

by BardierZRivii



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Absence of Condoms, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BUT PLEASE USE CONDOMS, Frottage, I am so sorry this is so American it hurts, Jaskier plays guitar, Kinda, Light Bondage, M/M, More like a mention but I'm putting that tag there just in case, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spooning, Too many mentions of Wonderwall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22208584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardierZRivii/pseuds/BardierZRivii
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt have been roommates for upwards of a year, and Jaskier has resigned himself to never being anything more than just Geralt's friend - but Geralt isn't dumb.  He can read between the lines, no matter how hard Jaskier tries to hide the truth behind overly-saccharine acoustic ballads.  After all, Jaskier writes far too many songs, all about the same person.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 31
Kudos: 985
Collections: GERALT AND JASKIER ARE FUCKING GAY





	Behind Honey-Golden Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the title is a reference to Kelly Clarkson's "Behind these Hazel Eyes". 
> 
> Please follow me on twitter https://twitter.com/bardierZrivii I want to talk to people about Geraskier... or whatever people are calling it

Jaskier is, was, and had always been a morning person. In university, he knew, his kind were few and far between, but he loved mornings. The dew covering everything in sight, the slight fog resulting from a rainy night, sun streaming through the parting clouds - it was enough to make a man think in iambic pentameter.

Well. Not all men.

From the bed next to his, Jaskier heard his roommate groan indignantly, covers noisily shifting as he rises to a seated position.

“Fuck.”

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine!” Jaskier plays a few stray notes on his guitar as if to play a little fanfare, congratulating Geralt for waking up as early as he did. “Care for some coffee?”

“What I’d _care for_ is you shutting the fuck up.”

Raising an eyebrow, Jaskier strums a few more chords, a wordless ‘fuck you’ in retort to Geralt’s complaining. “I hadn’t said a word until you got up.”

“I meant your guitar,” he groans deadpan, glaring as he turns his head to face the sunlight streaming through the blinds. “It’s - Jesus _fuck_ , Jaskier. It’s 6 fucking AM.”

“And you,” Jaskier hummed, allowing Geralt the small mercy of putting down his guitar as he hops off of his mattress, “have an 8AM class that you never have time to shower for. I’m just doing you a favor, acting as your personal alarm clock. I’m not nearly as traumatizing am I?”

Just to drive the point home, he makes an ungodly sound as he tries to imitate the default iPhone alarm chime with nothing but his god-given talent - which only earns him a pillow to the back of the head. Luckily, Geralt misses, and Jaskier avoids spilling the steaming cup of instant coffee he’s made for his grumpy roommate.

“I know you only have one pillow, so does this mean you’re getting up, my dear Geralt?”

“Shut up.”

Jaskier grins, knowing without even looking behind him that Geralt has resigned himself to crawling slowly out of bed. He works hard, gets results, and for no pay at all! Carefully, Jaskier turns so that the coffee doesn’t spill onto the carpet and walks towards Geralt with purpose, delivering the hot beverage with a lovely smile.

Geralt, for his part, no longer looks like he wants to kill him, but still rolls his eyes at Jaskier’s overly cheery demeanor. “I still don’t know how you do it. I’ve known you for how long and I’ve still yet to see you sleep in _once_.”

“I get my beauty sleep,” is all Jaskier says in answer, nursing his own cup of coffee as he leans against his bed post. 

Geralt grunts, pulling back his shoulder-length hair to tie it in his trademark messy ponytail as he regards Jaskier’s facial features with a critical eye. “Is that what you’re calling it,” he hums, smirking at Jaskier over the lip of his mug.

Jaskier’s only able to kick Geralt in his shin from the position he’s in because their dorm is a cramped little thing, but he’d be the last person to complain when their rooming situation forces them to be closer together. And yes, Jasker is _aware_ that he sounds like a lovesick little fool when he says things like that, but here’s the thing.

Jaskier had stumbled into his freshman year with no friends in a state across the country from his own, ready and willing to start his university career off right and make as many connections as he could. His first encounter had been Jeralt, as their orientation tour of campus had them rooming with the people they’d be living with for the rest of the year, and their introduction had been… tenuous, at best.

Excited at the chance to make new friends, he’d attempted to chat Geralt up, asking him a storm of questions of where he was from, how he’d ended up at their school, etc. etc., but all he’d gotten in reply was a few grunts here and there, followed by awkward silences Jaskier struggled to fill. After a while, he found it easier to just not try, assuming Geralt wanted nothing to do with him.

But as the actual school year had gone on, they’d formed a bit of camaraderie, getting closer and closer together as circumstances willed it. 

Whenever Jaskier found Geralt eating alone in the dining hall, he’d sit right across from him, setting the day’s assignment on the table to do in silence as he knew Geralt hated small talk. And by god, Jaskier hazarded the belief that Geralt appreciated the company, especially when he would give Jaskier one of his terse (and charming) little nods on his way out.

Living together with the brooding idiot, Jaskier had also found that Geralt knew nothing of shame. Not a day would go by without Jaskier catching an eyeful of Geralt’s naked body, his roommate muttering something about having forgotten his clothes before venturing into their shared bathroom or rolling his eyes at Jaskier as if he were some sort of _prude_ for not wanting to see someone he didn’t know whether to call a friend or not naked and dripping wet.

...That was the pretense Jaskier put on, anyways. But even after Jaskier had come out to Geralt as bi, the naked parading around never stopped.

See, Geralt was surprisingly open-minded for a division one athlete, which made it even harder for Jaskier to push aside his feelings. For all Jaskier knew, Geralt was straight, and the last thing he’d ever want to do was ruin the friendship they’d built up for so long with a misguided confession.

So Jaskier fell into the habit of sleeping around - though he was never stupid enough to bring people to their dorm, even on his drunkest excursions. But no matter how put-together Jaskier looked the morning after, Geralt would always somehow know, nodding in the direction of the shower if Jaskier hadn’t had the time to wash off wherever he’d spent the night.

He wondered if Geralt cared, or if he’d noticed that Jaskier has never been in a long-term relationship since they’d met for the first time. 

When the end of the year came around, Jaskier was relieved, but at the same time torn at the fact that they would no longer be cramped together in the same room. That was until Jaskier got an email from Geralt out of the blue requesting that they be roommates again for sophomore year.

He’d tried not to read too much into it. Maybe Geralt just found it convenient to not have to deal with another stranger as a roommate? Maybe Geralt just saw Jaskier as convenient?

Or maybe, just _maybe,_ Geralt _liked_ Jaskier. As a friend, maybe even more - 

Wait, no. That was a dangerous path for his thoughts to lead, and he’d stopped himself before he went too far whenever he’d think of it. Which was all the time, actually.

In any case, that’s how they’d found themselves in the present, enjoying another semester of comfortable cohabitation, Geralt speaking in little more than grunts whenever they found themselves alone in their dorm and Jaskier repressing his overflowing feelings for his closest friend.

He wasn’t doing a very good job of it, either. Every one of his friends knew about his stupid little crush, and teased him relentlessly for it - though it wasn’t too much of a problem, seeing as how Geralt hated spending time in groups. The only times he’d socialize, really, was when Jaskier would forcibly tag along when they’d both have a bit of free time.

All his friends said he was being far too obvious, but Jaskier couldn’t be assed to stop. And Geralt only ever complained the barest amount, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t welcome.

Geralt brings Jaskier out of his thoughts at nearly 7:30AM, thundering out of the shower with a head of dripping wet hair and nothing to cover himself up, as usual. “Jaskier! I can’t find my-”

“Favorite pair of jeans?” Jaskier hummed, pointedly looking up at the ceiling even though every cell in his body was screaming at him to gaze upon the glory of Geralt’s muscled figure. “You tossed them at the end of your bed last night, they’re probably on the floor by now.”

Hurriedly, Geralt knelt down to retrieve them, and Jaskier closed his eyes, praying to whatever gods could hear him to help restrain himself in such a dire time. “Thanks,” Geralt grunted a few moments later, and Jaskier slowly opened an eye, thankfully met with a half-dressed Geralt.

Whether he had on underwear or not was a different story, but for his own sanity, Jaskier tried not to think too hard about it.

The next ten minutes passed by uneventfully, though Jaskier couldn’t help but tease Geralt on his way out the door. “Aw, no kiss goodbye?”

“Fuck off, Oasis,” Geralt snarked, though he was half-grimacing, half-grinning wolfishly, wide enough to show teeth before he let the door slam shut behind him.

Later that day, it takes everything Jaskier has not to belt Wonderwall on his radio show just to spite Geralt, who he knows listens in. He almost gives in, dedicating a song to his ‘temperamental roommate’ before belting the first few bars - until his phone begins buzzing angrily with texts from Geralt telling him to fuck off.

Cutting himself off with peals of laughter and ignoring the irritated looks he’s getting from his cohost, Jaskier changes course and begins filling the dead air with a rhythmic chord. “Alright, enough joking around, this one - still for that brooding roomie - is a little song I composed sitting in the back of my atmospheric sciences class. It has nothing to do with the atmosphere, of course - god help me but I haven’t learned a single thing.”

It’s meaningless babble, because only Geralt, his mother, and a few other stragglers regularly listen to his radio show - a pattern he’d suspect would stay constant regardless of the time of day his show aired - but he likes to ramble, comfortable with the habit from all those months entertaining Geralt’s consistent silence.

As he gets into his composition, Jaskier closes his eyes, hoping to god Geralt doesn’t figure out that this - and all his other self-composed songs - is about him, his hazel, _honey-golden_ eyes, his platinum blond hair, his Greek god figure. He’d changed all the pronouns to feminine ones, but he knows Geralt is incredibly sharp. 

The thrill of Geralt potentially knowing sends a shiver up Jaskier’s spine, and he puts more emotion into the performance, imagining himself singing to Geralt in the center of the grassy quad one sunny afternoon.

He’s disappointed when he finishes the song, but bows and says his ‘thank yous’ to his applauding cohost nonetheless, letting him take over the rest of the show as he takes a well-deserved water break.

When the show is finally over, his cohost gives Jaskier a pointed look and pushes his microphone out of the way. “It’s about him again, isn’t it?”

“You got me, Jules. What, do you want a gold star?”

“Man, sing about something else. I would’ve even taken the Wonderwall cover over that, seriously.”

Jaskier has nothing to say to that, mostly because Geralt had texted him a request to walk back to their dorm together. “Uh-huh, uh-huh… I’ll see you next week, Jules.”

“If the next song is about him again, I’m muting your mic!” Jules shouts angrily down the hall at Jaskier’s retreating figure, but he’s too engrossed with texting Geralt about the show to hear a word of it.

He meets Geralt outside, the cold air hiding the blush on his cheeks when their eyes meet. “Fancy seeing you here,” Jaskier chuckles, gluing himself to Geralt’s side - because of the cold, of course. 

“I’m here to beat the shit out of you for almost playing Wonderwall,” Geralt deadpans in reply, and Jaskier easily dodges the playful punch sent his way.

“Hey! Jules appreciates it.”

“Yeah, well, Jules is probably sick of your sappy ballads.”

“Excuse _you_. I have half a mind to play Wonderwall for you once we get back to the dorm, just for that.”

“I’m serious, I’ll actually punch you if you do that.”

“Ooh, you like it rough, do you, Mr. Rivia?”

“Yeah, so much that I’ll tie you to your bed so I can get a decent night’s rest,” Geralt grumbles, voice muffled by the scarf covering half his face. 

“Is that a promise? I haven’t had the chance since I _dallied_ with my chem lab partner last semester.” He tries to suss out Geralt’s reaction, but his face is, as previously mentioned, covered. Jaskier misses the way Geralt straightens slightly, eyes narrowing at nothing in particular. 

Changing the subject so fast that Jaskier nearly gets whiplash, Geralt grumbles, “What’d you have in mind for lunch?”

Oh, christ. Jaskier hopes he hasn’t made Geralt uncomfortable. Going along with it, Jaskier hums and bumps his hip into Geralt’s. “Why don’t you choose?”

“No, you choose.”

“Well, I don’t really care.”

“Neither do I.”

They spend the next few seconds in silence until they burst into laughter - or, until Jaskier starts braying like a hyena and Geralt lets out an amused huff. “We’ll starve at this rate,” Jaskier laments, dramatically pretend-fainting onto Geralt’s shoulder, content to stay like that until he’s shrugged off. Which… he isn’t. Huh.

“I’ll cook.”

“Come again?” Jaskier almost trips with how surprised he is. Their floor does have a kitchen, but he didn’t take Geralt for someone who knew how to cook. “You’re not gonna get the fire department called on us, are you? Too many freshmen have popped their popcorn in that microwave for me to trust it to work, Geralt.” Freshmen including Jaskier himself.

“Take it or leave it,” Geralt all but _growls,_ and despite how rude that is, it never fails to make Jaskier all but melt into a giant, gay puddle.

“I’ll take it! I’ll take it, jesus,” Jaskier yelps, hoping to god his jeans are thick enough to hide his growing ‘interest’. “You wouldn’t let me starve, would you?”

“I’m considering it now,” Geralt grumbles, but when he looks at Jaskier, who’s pouting adorably (if he does say so himself), he rolls his eyes and tugs his roommate past their usual turn towards their hall. “Ingredients,” is all he says, and Jaskier, despite his propensity for chattering, finds the lack of words endearing.

Good god. Something must be wrong with him. He’s never found a straight boy’s inability to communicate _attractive_ before.

Two hours later and Jaskier finds himself on a couch in the common room, watching Geralt watch what he thinks is veritable culinary _magic_ in the shared kitchen. For god’s sake, he cuts vegetables without having to look at them - Jaskier should not find that as hot as he does.

“You sure you don’t want help?” Jaskier calls out hesitantly, tired of scrolling through twitter in silence.

“Play something if you’re bored,” Geralt grunts back, flicking his wrist to shove slices of onion into a pan. 

Play something he will, then. Jaskier pulls out his guitar and tunes it softly, worried that the cold outside air warped the wood somehow. Eventually, though, he settles in, plucking a few lines of what he knows to be one of Geralt’s favorite songs - something that Jaskier himself has barely listened to but learned how to play after Geralt mentioned it in passing - crooning softly so that the rest of the floor doesn’t bring the wrath of their RA down on them. The resulting effect is far more intimate than Jaskier intends for, but he relishes in the feeling anyways.

The sound of his strumming along with the constant crackling of oil in the background lulls Jaskier to sleep in the middle of his song, somehow. When he wakes up, he’s in his bed, the scent of stir-fry filling the air.

“Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Did - did you _carry me here?_ ”

“No, I rolled you down the hallway.”

Holy fuck. Geralt had _carried_ him and he wasn’t even awake to enjoy it. Goddammit.

Geralt’s at his side, handing him a fork and a plate of warm food like an attentive boyfriend - fuck, no, not like that - and settling down at the edge of his mattress facing Jaskier.

“Sorry about that,” Jaskier stutters, digging in so he doesn’t have to look Geralt in the eye. “Must’ve been heavy, huh?”

Geralt huffs, but Jaskier doesn’t have the courage to look up to see if it’s laughter or not. “You weigh less than your guitar.”

Spluttering, Jaskier flings a limp slice of bell pepper Geralt’s way. “I do not! I’ll have you know I work out.” He knows he’s pouting, but he’s having far too much fun to really care about the way he looks right now.

“Running is not the sport you should be taking up if you want to get bulkier,” Geralt huffs again, picking the stray vegetable off his shirt and flinging it back at Jaskier. It lands on his cheek, and Geralt starts, putting his plate down and crossing the divide between them to clean Jaskier off. Which isn’t totally necessary, because Jaskier is a grown man, and - oh. _Oh._

Geralt, after flinging the offending piece of food in the trash can, wipes Jaskier’s cheek clean almost _tenderly_ , his thumb gently tracing over the ridge of his cheekbone with the barest touch _._ It’s - it’s too much, and not enough all at once, and Jaskier has to push Geralt’s hands away before he starts _misinterpreting_ things.

“Wouldn’t - wouldn’t want that to get a little too _homo_ , if you know what I’m saying, eh?” Jaskier stutters clumsily, knowing his face is burning red.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, Geralt?”

“Look at me. How would you describe my eyes, hmm? _‘Honey-golden’_ , maybe?”

Jaskier gasps, nearly dropping his plate to the floor before he just barely catches it while smearing his hand with oil. “You - did you - how - huh?”

Geralt smoothly takes the plate from Jaskier’s hands, setting it next to his own and bringing his hand to his lips. “It doesn’t take an english major to figure out that you’ve been writing songs about me.” He’s - he’s crowding Jaskier back against the wall now, naturally making Jaskier spread his legs for him, and oh, _hell._ Geralt’s licking his palm, sucking Jaskier’s fingers into his mouth, and he can’t fucking _take this_ anymore, he’s going to _explode-_

“Tell me this isn’t a dream, Geralt, because I’m this close to passing the fuck out.” He yanks his hand out of Geralt’s mouth, still too shocked to believe any of this is real, that his Adonis of a soccer-playing roommate would ever, _ever_ look at him this way. “This isn’t-” he swallows thickly, looking up into Geralt’s eyes pleadingly as his voice goes whisper-quiet, “This isn’t some sort of joke, is it? A bet, maybe?”

Geralt’s features immediately set into a scowl, and he sits back on his haunches, regarding Jaskier curiously. “Why would I do this as a joke? Fuck, we’re not in high school anymore.”

“Then… you want us to be fuck-buddies? Pardon my French, I mean, friends with benefits?”

Geralt’s scowl doesn’t leave his face as he slowly shakes his head. “Is it really so surprising that I’d want to be more than friends with someone like you? Attractive, great at singing, attentive-”

Jaskier cuts him off with a hand over his mouth, blushing wildly out of control. “That’s the most words you’ve ever said to me in one go, and the compliments, man, the _compliments -_ are you trying to kill me?”

“If I wanted to kill you, I’d find a far less embarrassing way to go about it.”

That was it, then. Jaskier slid his hand down Geralt’s jaw, pulling him in for a heated kiss so urgent that Geralt has to stop himself from falling forward with a hand planted against the wall on either side of Jaskier’s head.

They break apart for air, but only barely, taking a few seconds to catch their breath before Jaskier twists a hand into the collar of Geralt’s shirt and brings him down to the mattress to straddle him.

“Would you let me take the lead?” Jaskier all but purrs, his composure having come back to him after the initial shock of Geralt actually being interested in him. He slides his hands up and under Geralt’s shirt against bare skin, rucking the fabric underneath Geralt’s shoulders.

Geralt simply nods, watching him like a predator watching their prey - which isn’t fair, because isn’t Jaskier the one on top right now? With experienced hands, he quickly undoes Geralt’s fly as he gives passionate attention to one of his nipples, revelling in the way he arches into the touch and moans so loud and deep that the bed frame shakes.

He’s gone commando, as Jaskier suspected earlier in the day, and he feels himself harden almost painfully fast against the equally hard muscle of Geralt’s thigh. “Lazy, or seductive?” Jaskier asks as he pulls Geralt out of the confines of his jeans with measured strokes. 

Geralt doesn’t say a word, too busy leaving marks along the curve of Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier has the idea to bring their cocks together after they’ve undressed completely, thrusting against Geralt’s length in a bid to persuade him to do the same. Soon, they’re desperately frotting against each other, the hot slide of skin on skin nearly too much too bear. Jaskier’s bold enough to hold a hand up to Geralt’s mouth to ask for a repeat performance, and he complies easily, making heated eye contact with Jaskier as he laves his tongue along the lines of his palm.

The look on his face gives Jaskier _ideas_ , but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to think on them because Geralt is close to turning them over and boxing Jaskier in with his larger frame, which no, Jaskier will not allow to happen - so he brings his hand back down between them and makes a fist around their members, making sure to catch the precome on the tip of Geralt’s cock before he twists his hand around them both.

At that, Geralt lets out the _filthiest_ moan Jaskier has ever heard in his life, and he can’t stop himself from pushing his hips faster and faster.

“Can you - just-” Jaskier doesn’t have the words to ask Geralt to take over, so he uses his free hand to grab Geralt’s, replacing the one encircling them.

Geralt makes a questioning noise at the change, though dutifully squeezing them together _just_ tight enough for Jaskier to see stars. It almost distracts him from sucking his fingers into his own mouth and bringing them around to his backside, Geralt watching his movements carefully until he realizes just what Jaskier is doing - at which point Jaskier can actually feel him throb, growing larger in his hand just as Jaskier scissors his fingers inside himself.

Growling, Geralt captures Jaskier’s lips with his own, a hand snaking over Jaskier’s waist to pull him apart and aid him in his preparations. When he’s ready, Jaskier is all but shaking, hips stuttering and unable to keep a rhythm without cumming all over them both.

Catching his breath, Jaskier pushes at Geralt’s shoulder and gets him flat on his back, grabbing his cock and pushing it against the curve of his ass to rub them together slowly until Jaskier is stood up on his knees, body more than ready to accept Geralt inside him.

Geralt, for his part, is panting just as fiercely as Jaskier is, hands clamped down on Jaskier’s hips in an iron grip. Jaskier has the audacity to give Geralt a wink before he accepts his cock down to the crown, muscles fluttering around the intrusion wildly until he stills and acclimates to the sudden change.

Now he couldn’t wink even if he wanted to, lips parted on a silent gasp with his head tilted back. Unexpectedly, Geralt lets his hands slide up and down Jaskier’s torso, looking up at his partner and putting the slightest pressure against his skin as he wordlessly asks if it’s alright for him to take over and spear Jaskier on his cock.

What else can Jaskier say to that but yes? Nodding frantically, he tries to relax as Geralt pushes into him torturously slowly, entering him inch by shuddering inch until Jaskier is flush against him, chest heaving up and down with the effort it’s taking him not to _wail_. Jaskier may be a slut, but he hasn’t had someone as big as Geralt in a long time - not that he’d tell him and let it get to his head, of course.

Geralt is patient enough to wait for Jaskier to get used to having his full length inside him, and Jaskier is the first to move, hands planted on Geralt’s chest as he rocks back and forth on his length, making sure to arch his back just so on his way up and grind his hips against Geralt’s when he has all of Geralt inside him again.

After a bit, that pace must be too slow for Geralt, who grabs Jaskier’s thigh and hikes it over his hip to spread him apart, using his grip as leverage to all but use him like his own personal fleshlight.

Deliriously, Jaskier can really only hang on for dear life at this point, Geralt’s stamina overtaking his own. He uses what little strength he can muster to tangle his fingers through Geralt’s hair, pulling to tilt his head back and sloppily kiss him as his hips snap harder, and harder, and _harder_ until Jaskier bites down on Geralt’s bottom lip, drawing blood as he jolts ropes of cum across his chest.

The rhythmic contraction of Jaskier around him pushes Geralt over the edge soon after, and he lets out a gutteral moan, fingers pressing so hard into Jaskier’s skin that he’s sure to see bruises in the exact shape of Geralt’s hands in the morning.

They’re tangled together on top of Jaskier’s comforter as they ride through the aftershocks together, breathily kissing each other until their bodies are back under their control. Worn out and exhausted, they flop onto their backs, too hot to cling to each other for just a moment before Geralt can’t stand being apart for a moment longer and gathers Jaskier into his arms to spoon him.

“What made you want to…” Jaskier twirls a finger in the air, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence but knowing Geralt will understand him all the same.

Shuffling closer against Jaskier’s back, Geralt lets his chin rest on Jaskier’s shoulder before he answers. “This morning.”

“What, when I annoyed you into waking up?”

Geralt’s resulting huff of amusement brushes against Jaskier’s cheek, and he can’t help but arch back against the larger man. That draws a growl out of Geralt, who dips down for a lazy kiss. “You looked… I’m not a songwriter like you, but you looked so good with the sun on your face. And you were so… nice. With the coffee.”

“I’m sorry, looking at me in the morning made you want to fuck me? I should be an annoying shit at ass o’clock more often, then,” Jaskier teased, though he’s touched by Geralt’s confession.

“I always knew there was something between us,” Geralt continues, tenderly running a thumb up and down Jaskier’s collarbone. “I knew we were close, but I never realized I wanted you like _that_ until this morning.”

“Wow.” Jaskier’s practically speechless for a moment. “So… you decided you wanted to make a move in the span of a few hours? You may be many things, Geralt, but indecisive is certainly not one of them. And… wait, how were you so sure I’d be into this?”

Geralt gives Jaskier a pointed look until he breaks, laughing low and earnest like Jaskier has never heard Geralt laugh before - immediately, Jaskier wants to write a song about it. He’s so enamored by the sound that he forgets to be offended, and it’s not like he didn’t know how pathetically transparent he’d been. Jaskier gets lost in thought and tries to recreate the sound of Geralt’s laugh in his head, a warm feeling spreading through his chest.

“You haven’t said something for more than thirty seconds and you’re not asleep. Are you writing a song in your head again?”

Jaskier starts, guiltily turning into Geralt’s chest and pressing kisses into his neck. “How could you tell?”

“You’re only ever silent for a reason. What, is it about me again?”

“...”

“Jules is going to kick you off the show, Jaskier.”

During next week’s radio show, Jules nearly does - but Jaskier makes the song short enough that he escapes his cohost’s wrath - and later in the evening, when he and Geralt are relaxing in the same bed, he plays the full version, interrupted every few seconds by kisses that get more desperate by the verse.

**Author's Note:**

> Putting my twitter down here for good measure because I am DESPERATE: https://twitter.com/bardierZrivii
> 
> Also I am so sorry I put the horrible iPhone alarm sound into this fic I don't even own an iPhone


End file.
